


What Doesn't Kill You

by Maimat



Category: Boondock Saints (Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-26
Updated: 2012-05-26
Packaged: 2017-11-06 01:37:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/413286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maimat/pseuds/Maimat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They had Murphy for ten days. They wanted to make an example out of him and show everyone that they could take down a Saint. If they could take down a Saint they could take down anyone. Connor and Murphy disagree.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Doesn't Kill You

Ten days.

Ten fucking long days they'd had his brother, and Connor had been able to do nothing about it. Not that Connor had been picking his teeth the whole time. He did everything he could think of and more than a few things he didn't want to think of in the course of finding his twin.

"We're making an example of him." Is what one of the damn bastards had said.

Connor watched Murphy roll onto his side, mumbling something incoherent as he opened his eyes. Connor tensed.

Four days ago Connor killed all the bastards responsible, and he hadn't left his twin's side since.

It took some time for Murphy to sit up, he was careful neither to pull any stitches in his side nor to jar his broken ankle, and he kept his eyes on Connor the whole time. "How long'd I sleep?"

"A few hours."

Murphy nodded. "And you?"

Connor shook his head. "Nah, I'm good."

"Don't worry 'bout me so much." He reminded his brother.

Connor nodded. "I know. You're Murphy Fucking MacManus."

"Damn right." Muphy answered.

Connor felt like a fucking liar. How could he sit there are say these things, telling Mur[hy everything was going to be alright, when every time he looked at his brother all Connor could see was the image burned into his brain when he'd rescued him.

Blood and despair and defeat.

Murphy had been chained up in a fucking shower stall, drugged, starved and beaten. All those hours Connor had spent sleeping or chasing false leads, every minute of it was time Murphy shouldn't have been waiting. When Connor looked at Murphy he could only see how badly he failed his brother.

He found Murphy alive. He should be fucking celebrating.

But it fucking hurt to see what they'd done to his twin. Murphy hadn't said anything yet about what happened, but Connor had gotten a firsthand view of it all after shooting the bastards responsible. It fucking hurt to watch Murphy continue to suffer because of it. It fucking hurt to be right there and still not be able to do anything.

He didn't know what to do to make it better.

He did what he could. Connor wrapped his unconscious brother up in a fucking sheet and carried him out, brought him to a safe place and cleaned him up.

What he wanted to do most was the one thing that was impossible to do, he couldn't make it not have happened at all.

"We need to get out of here." Murphy said, looking around, getting kind of twitchy.

Connor looked up. "We're good. No one'll find us."

Murphy nodded. "Not what I mean. You need to get out. I need to get out. I need some fucking real clothes." He said gesturing to his boxers and bathrobe. "And fresh air."

"What about your ankle?" Connor reminded him, as if Murphy needed reminding. He watched as Murphy fidgeted with the straps of the removable cast, watched him twist the bed sheets around his fingers. It looked like he was getting ready to crawl out of his skin. But then Murphy had always been like that. Always moving, always doing something, and never sitting still. Connor felt a little better, in fact, seeing his brother getting some energy back. What worried him now was how he was going to get that energy contained so that Murphy stay put long enough to heal.

Murphy shrugged. "I'll use the stupid crutches."

The stupid crutches were on the floor beside Murphy's mattress.

Connor hadn't even known about there being a problem with Murphy's ankle at first, and to be honest it was one of the lesser injuries he'd been worried about at the time. There'd been so much else to deal with, and the only thing Connor could focus on was keeping Murphy alive because even that hadn't seemed like a sure thing.

At least they had connections now; more than when they'd gotten shot that first time and had to take care of themselves with a fucking iron in the kitchen. They had allies, they knew a doctor who would come and help them out when they needed, and that was who Connor had called.

The Doctor, her name was Sophia, she came with a duffel bag of tricks and sat on the floor next to Murphy, and she did her thing. She listened to his heart, and his breathing, and looked at his eyes. Murphy didn't put up any resistance, he just watched through glassy eyes staring at Connor sitting beside him.

"Do you want to know?" She asked Connor.

Connor nodded.

Connor wasn't even sure how much of what she told him he understood or retained. She warned Connor that there wasn't much she could do to help other than give Connor a bottle of mild sedatives and pain killers to help Murphy sleep.

The bruising and swelling around Murphy's ankle wasn't fresh. She palpated and figured out what she could without an x-ray. There was no obvious bend or disfigurement, nothing she could find that would require surgery.

And then there was the seizure. Only the one thank God. Doctor Sophia told him it was minor, and not unusual for the kind of trauma Murphy'd been through. She said it could be from the concussion, or it could be from the drugs they'd used to control him.

She brought back antibiotics and crutches.

Connor fell asleep at some point on the floor beside the mattress, and he woke up with Murphy's hand in his. They didn't say anything at first, just staring at each other, and then Murphy quirked a grin and instead of just holding Connor's hand, he pushed himself forwards and practically tackled Connor and wrapped both arms tightly around his twin. Broken ribs and injuries be damned

That was only two days ago. In those two days, there wasn't much that happened. Connor cooked and tried to keep Murphy as comfortable as possible. Connor watched Murphy do a lot of sleeping, and worried about things he couldn't control. He knew he needed to give Murphy space and time to heal. He knew he needed to be patient. He knew he needed to be strong and step up and take care of his brother, he just wished he had a better clue at what he was fucking doing. He had Dr Sophie bring him books about trauma victims, about PTSD, and about recovering prisoners of war. None of those books did anything other than just scare the fucking crap out of him.

And now Murphy wanted to go for a fucking walk?

"We're not going anywhere, Murph."

"I wasn't asking for your permission. You can't fucking keep me here." Murphy insisted and pushed his self up. He used a chair to stand up, keeping his knee bent and foot off the ground.

"And how the fuck do you plan to get past me?"

"What are you going to do? Chain me up in the fucking shower?" Murphy yelled. He watched Connor flinch and back off from those words.

Murphy channeled his frustration and gave the chair he was using to hold himself up a violent push across the room before letting himself fall back down onto the mattress. "Where the fucking hell even are we?"

"China town."

Murphy hung his head for a second, thinking. He wasn't stupid. He knew his head was messed up from all the dope they'd injected in him. Connor was right, what the hell was he thinking? Where the fuck was he even planning to go?

He hated sitting still. The fucks who'd had him had kept him cuffed in once place for so fucking long. And it pissed him off that Connor seemed to be doing the same. That he would even compare Connor and the fucks in any way was so fucking wrong and it proved to Murphy just how fucked his thinking was. He stared at Connor, not trusting his eyes or his own brain anymore.

"Can I have a cigarette?" Murphy asked. He laid down on his back and stared up at the ceiling.

Connor nodded. "Course." He dug into the bad in the corner, brought out a pack and handed one to Murphy, he held out the lighter. Murphy took it with shaky hands and lit it. He noticed Connor wasn't taking one for himself. He took a drag and then handed it over. Connor accepted and gave it back.

"I'm sorry Conn."

Connor shook his head. "Don't be."

"My head's not right." Murpphy said. Connor nodded, and just sat and waited. "How long was I there?"

"Ten days. I went nuts trying to find you."

Murphy nodded. "I got away from 'em once." Murphy told him. "That first day. That I remember. I got a gun and I killed two of the fucks, one for each bullet in the chamber. And I was so fucking close to getting out of there. I had the door open and everything. One of 'em fucking tased me. And I thought, what the fuck are they tasing me for? They should have used a fucking bullet. But they didn't want me dead. They should have killed me after the first day." Murphy said.

Connor closed his eyes. "Don't say that, Murph."

"Just saying that's what they usually do, not what I'd have preferred. They knew who we are, they wanted to make an example of me. Show everyone that if they could bring down a Saint, they could bring down fucking anyone. They thought they could show me off like some broken toy."

"You're not broken Murph."

Murphy nodded. "You killed em all... right Conn?"

"Yeah."

"Thanks." He looked over at his brother. "It's the dope messing with my head. Make sure you tell me when I'm being stupid, ok?"

"Of Course." This was the most Murphy had talked in the past four days. Now this was their fourth day back together, and Connor was still didn't know what he was doing or how to do it. He waited, wondering if Murphy was going to keep talking.

"Pass me another cig?" Connor got up and this time lit it for him before handing it over.

Murphy took a drag. "We're going to be fine. I don't even remember most of what happened."

Connor nodded.

He reached out and took Connor's hand, pulling him to lie down beside him. They lied on their sides, facing each other.

"Doesn't change that it did happen." Murphy added. He passed Connor the cigarette. "Remember that fucking camp ma sent us to when we were ten?"

"Yeah."

"They thought separating us would be good? Thought we were too close and dependant and all that shit?" Murphy watched Connor. "What a fucking disaster. I... I think I just about killed that fucking camp councillor."

Connor felt his heart speed up. They never talked about that. Even at the time, and all the years since, Murphy never referenced what happened at that camp.

But Murphy was talking, and Connor wasn't about to tell him to stop.

"I felt like shit that I wasn't there for you, you know." Murphy said it quietly, and watched Connor for his reaction. Connor froze and Murphy kept watching him. "Felt like I failed you. Would have done anything to set it right. And yeah, if I hadn't of been ten at the time, I think that fucker would have died."

Murphy kept watching Connor for reaction. "We were the Saints even back then." He was silent for a while and closed his eyes. Connor wondered if maybe he'd fallen asleep, but then Murph was back to watching him, staring into his eyes. "Do you blame me for not being there?"

"No." Connor whispered.

"So don't fucking blame yourself for this. I just about escaped the first day. They used a fucking hammer on my ankle, and said they got the idea from some fucking horror novel. Said if caught me escaping again they'd break the other one too."

"Fuck." Connor felt his own ankle tingling just thinking about it.

"Wouldn't have stopped me if I'd had the chance. I just figured it meant I should do it right and not get caught the next time." Murphy sat up, back to fidgeting. Connor rolled onto his back and Murphy stared down at him. "I don't want to hurt you Conn."

"How are you planning on hurting me, Murph?"

"If me telling you all this is hurting you. Tell me to stop."

Connor blinked. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Murphy nodded.

"Then talk."

Murphy smiled and shifted his leg a bit, getting more comfortable. "They knew you were coming for me. They even told me their plans to kill you, and that they were going to watch you coming in and make sure that I'd see you. That they'd make you kneel like how we do them. They thought it was fucking amusing when I told 'em they were as good as dead already. You fucking should have seen them laughing, Conn."

"I did see em, right before shooting em. They weren't laughing." Conner reminded him.

Murphy thought that was hilarious. "Can't believe I fucking slept through that."

"You were unconscious. There's a difference."

Murphy shrugged. "Whatever. You should have seen what fucking cowards they were. The fucks were scared to come near me. They had me fucking naked and cuffed in a fucking shower, and they wouldn't come close till I was fucking tased first. Even fucked up on dope, they needed two of them to hold me down."

Connor blinked. Dr Sophia had talked about some of the side effects of trauma. The books she brought talked about depression, and how victims often feel overwhelmed, nightmares, flashbacks, insomnia, anxiety. The books warned about triggers that could remind the victim of the trauma and bring about negative emotion responses. He didn't remember reading anywhere about anything like this.

Here was his brother, wearing nothing more than boxers and a thin robe, and fucking getting excited about telling him how he'd had to be held down by two men before getting tortured. But then, this was Murphy. "Which one?"

Murphy frowned. "Which one what?"

"Which one hurt you?"

Murphy looked down at his chest for a second, at the bruises and burns and knife wounds. "Fucking all of 'em, Conn. What , you want to know who did what?"

Connor didn't answer.

Murphy considered it. "I can tell you what I remember." He said. "There was five of em when you got there. Right?"

Connor nodded.

"Okay. Let me think. A short one with blond hair, two fat ones one of em had a tribal tattoo on his wrist, a tall skinny bald guy, and the one with the unibrow. The unibrow was in charge. He told the others what to do, and he was the one with the hammer. I remember that pretty fucking good cause it was before the whole drug thing started. The other two, the ones I shot, one had a beard and the other had thick glasses." Murphy stopped a second and bit his lip.

"You okay with telling me all this?" Connor asked.

Murphy nodded. "You okay with hearing it?"

Connor nodded.

"So, the two I got. The one with the beard pissed on me, the bastard. I could tell he was going to be a scary fuck, glad I shot him first. The one with the thick glasses had grabby hands when no one was looking, and I knew there only one other bullet in that fucking gun so I wanted to make it count. The short blond one really liked the taser. He kind of sat off to the side most of the time watching. He's the one that tased me before I could get out the door. And the bald guy was a smoker." Murphy craned his head to look at his shoulder where the cigarette burns were. "He liked to talk. He was a fan of knives too, I promised him I'd show him my Rambo knife, but I guess he'll miss out on that fun now won't he? The fat guys were the fighters." He thought about it again for a while. "Get me another cigarette?"

"Trying to catch up on the ones you missed?" Connor asked, but he rolled over and got up anyway. He lit it and took a puff before passing it over.

"Thanks." Connor sat on the mattress beside Murphy. He couldn't believe they were talking about this like they were discussing the weather or something.

"The fat guy with the tribal tattoo, he wasn't so bad."

"You made friends with one of em?"

Murphy laughed. "I thought it was my best bet, you know, to have at least one of them not spittin on me every time they walked by. At least he didn't treat me like an animal the whole fucking time."

"I killed him along with the others."

Murphy made a face. "Course you killed him. He wasn't the worst of em but he was still a pretty fucking willing participant." He turned serious. "They didn't want me dead, you know, so they had to make sure I didn't starve or nothing. They wouldn't uncuff my hands, so I was sitting there like that with my arms up. Made it fucking hard to eat and drink."

Murphy concentrated on smoking for a minute. "So, after that escape attempt thing, that's when the drugs started. There's some stuff I remember, but it mostly kind of blurry. Just a lot of sitting there. My arms were pretty fucking sore and my ankle of course. But the drugs actually made it so I didn't feel it so much, and time passed really strange. I think they were hoping I'd lose my mind of something."

He'd stopped talking for a while. Connor got up and grabbed a can of Pepsi and passed it over.

Murphy was giving him that intense look again. "I never understood why you weren't mad at me about the camp thing."

Connor frowned. So they were back to that. Fuck. "Wasn't you're fault."

"Maybe not. But I was off swimming and having a good time while it was all happening. I wasn't noticing things I should have been. I wasn't stopping it from happening."

"You did what you could when you knew." Connor reminded him.

Murphy nodded. "We were ten. What I could do wasn't much. But we got the hell out of there. I guess that counts"

"Yeah. It counts."

Murphy reached out suddenly and touched the side of Connor's face. "Conn, I know that look cause I saw it in the mirror every time I looked at myself after that. Don't do it to yourself. Shit happens."

"What the fuck are you talking about? What are you comforting me for?"

Murphy shrugged. "Cause I know how fucked up all this is. If I were in your shoes, I'd be a fucking mess. You're the one got me out of that shit hole, you're the one who cleaned me up and got help. You are the one who has to put up with my shit and listen to my nightmares. You are the one who has been fucking fetching everything I ask for. Don't keep looking at me like I'm a victim."

Connor rubbed at his eyes tiredly. "What do you fucking want me to do, Murph?"

"I'm a survivor Conn. All I'm asking is you fucking treat me like one."


End file.
